“No, I am simply going to invite all of you to a dinner party on Easter Sunday so that you can see exactly how I am managing my life without your family fortune,” I replied.
Lydia widened her eyes with a look of predatory joy as she imagined the humble, pathetic apartment she expected me to be living in by the time that weekend arrived.
“Oh, you poor thing, are you going to host us in some tiny little bistro or perhaps you will rent a single table on a public terrace to pretend you have found success?” she asked.
“I will send the formal address to your house in due time, and I expect you to bring the entire family so that everyone can witness the results for themselves,” I said.
I walked away without offering them another word of explanation and stepped out onto the busy street where a sleek black sedan was waiting patiently at the corner for my arrival.
A driver in a sharp suit stepped out of the vehicle and opened the rear door for me with a level of respect that I had not received from the Westons in half a decade.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Caldwell, shall we head straight to the estate at Lake Tahoe or do you have other errands to attend to first?” Marcus asked as he closed the door behind me.
“Yes, Marcus, let us go home because it is finally over and I no longer have to pretend to be someone I am not for the sake of people who do not deserve me,” I answered.
As the car glided through the city traffic, I looked out the window and felt a massive weight lift off my chest while the identity of Elena Weston faded away into the shadows.
Elena Caldwell, the woman Dominic had never bothered to truly understand or know, was finally back and she was stronger than she had ever been before the marriage.
Three weeks later, a series of thick, ivory envelopes embossed with shimmering gold lettering arrived at the Weston mansion and left the entire family in a state of confusion.
Lydia held the expensive cardstock in her hands and insisted that it must be some kind of elaborate joke or a desperate attempt by me to save face in front of their social circle.
“We should all go to this dinner because if she wants to humiliate herself in front of an audience, I want to make sure the entire family is there to see it,” Lydia ordered.
On Easter Sunday, thirty two members of the Weston family arrived at the designated coordinates in a fleet of luxury SUVs while dressed in their finest attire to mock my supposed poverty.
When they reached the massive black iron gates nestled in the mountains, the security guard leaned out of his booth and checked the guest list with a professional nod.
“Welcome to the private residence of Ms. Elena Caldwell, and please follow the main road for two miles until you reach the primary terrace,” the guard said into their window.
The smiles on their faces began to falter as they realized that the gates were far more impressive than anything the Weston family currently owned or operated in the city.
The drive from the front gate to the main house was so long and winding that the laughter inside the vehicles began to die down into an uneasy, contemplative silence.
On one side of the road, there were sprawling lavender gardens and ancient trees that were perfectly illuminated by hidden lights while the other side offered a breathtaking view of the water.
They passed a modern stable filled with champion horses and several electric utility trucks that bore the logo of a global technology firm they all recognized from the news.
“This must be some kind of high end boutique hotel that she found a way to talk herself into for the afternoon,” Sabrina whispered as she gripped the door handle tightly.
“Or perhaps it is a house that she has rented for events using the last of her divorce settlement money just to spite us,” Lydia said, though her voice lacked its usual bite.
When the vans finally came to a halt in front of a massive stone entrance, a butler in a formal tuxedo stepped forward to greet the confused guests as they climbed out.
